A Christmas to Remember
by The Lost Moon Of Poosh
Summary: "Jim, why is it whenever you plan a vacation, even when it's CHRISTMAS, everything goes wrong?" Warning: total crack.
1. Drunken Promises

**Summary: **"Jim, why is it whenever you plan a vacation, even when it's CHRISTMAS, everything goes wrong?"

**Warnings:** total crack.

**Author's note: **I know it's a bit after Christmas, but I thought I'd put it up here anyway for you guys to read. Hope you enjoy it! And a very (belated) Merry Christmas!

oOo

Singing reverberated around the room, drifting over to a dark corner where one solitary, stoic figure hid themselves away, sensitive ears trying to deal with the sudden cacophony of noise. It was hard to believe that such a hardworking crew could turn into such – for lack of a better description – out of control hedonists. The pointy eared figure mentally cringed as his mind backtracked over this thought. Apparently their logical demeanours weren't the only ones getting thrown out the airlock tonight.

He sighed, nursing his eggnog as though it was whisky. Though of course he would never admit to this action...hugging eggnog in such a fashion would be illogical, of course.

"Heeeeeeeey!"

Without warning a drunken slur drawled into his ear and then the voice promptly burped. He wrinkled his nose ever so slightly. "Doctor, I must respectfully request that you avoid over-indulgence of sauerkraut in the future. The resulting odour is most unbecoming."

"N'aaah," McCoy slurred, leaning drunkenly across the bar beside Spock. "I 'ave mints."

"Then perhaps it would be logical to use them." McCoy hiccoughed and Spock frowned. "Doctor-"

"Firs' Officer."

An eyebrow rose. "One would believe that, as the individual 'in charge' of the festivities, you would present a more respectful and dignified image."

"No one's s'posed to be dignified at Christmas," McCoy explained seriously, not noticing that he'd tipped his drink into Spock's lap as he straightened up.

"I see."

McCoy nodded his head for no apparent reason and Spock sighed in a rare expression of mental exhaustion. "Ev'ryone should get the joy of Christmas."

"Doctor, I have never understood the 'joy' in the practice of Christmas. In my opinion-"

"But your mom was human-"

"Indeed she was, Doctor," Spock said dryly. "Nevertheless, she was required to adhere to Vulcan practices while residing on our planet."

McCoy gaped at him for several long moments. "Ya can't be ser'us!"

"I assure you, I rarely endeavour to be anything else."

"HEY JIM!" Spock winced as McCoy suddenly bellowed from his position right next to him. "GETCHYER ASS OVER HERE!"

Kirk extricated himself from a dancing group wearing antlers with an apologetic expression on his face, weaving his way through the crowd to find the two officers alone by the bar.

"Spockie here's never had a good ol' fashioned human Christmas," McCoy announced.

"Nor do I feel the immediate need to experience one..." Spock trailed off as McCoy's statement registered completely in his mind. "Doctor I must request that you cease referring to me as 'Spockie'."

"He's _never_," McCoy repeated pointedly, "had a proper Christmas, Jim, and _I_," he thumped his glass onto the counter, cracking it in the process, "think he should."

"Right," Kirk replied, glancing between the two of them. "I think that can be arranged."

"Captain-"

"We insis'," McCoy interrupted, grinning widely. "You need a damn good Christmas, Spock, and we're gonna give it to ya!"

"Looks like Bones has spoken," Kirk said in amusement even as said surgeon seemed to stare at Spock.

"Doctor is there a reason behind your current fascination with my nether regions?"

"You need ta get tha' sorted out," McCoy decided, nodding in the direction of the damp patch on Spock's pants. "Come see me t'morrow in Sick Bay, an' I'll give ya medication." With that, he sauntered back into the crowd, leaving a steadily blushing Spock attempt to explain the situation to a highly amused Captain.

oOo

"I must protest-"

"You ain't protestin' nothin'!" McCoy snapped back, his accent thickening in his anger as he shoved pieces of clothing into a travel bag at random. "You're going to have a good old fashioned human Christmas with us or my name's Rudolph!"

"...I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind," McCoy sighed, to Spock's eternal confusion. He lifted up a blue long sleeved shirt and eyed it with exasperation. "You also need a new wardrobe."

"My current wardrobe is perfectly functional, Doctor. However, I must request that you cease your ministrations – you are wrinkling my clothing."

"I still can't believe," McCoy ranted, ignoring Spock's request completely, "that all you have is uniform – don't they wear clothes on Vulcan?"

Spock started to turn a peculiar green colour. "It would be highly illogical not to."

"Then you should have brought some with you, you insufferable Vulcan!"

"It did not occur to me that clothes other than uniform would be required while serving with Starfleet, Doctor."

"And they say Vulcans are logical."

"We are."

McCoy sighed once more. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I am perfectly capable of retrieving my own possessions."

"Oh really," McCoy drawled sarcastically. "That would be why you're completely packed already and have no need for me whatsoever. I must be packing someone else's bags."

"They are mine."

"What?"

"The bags," Spock repeated patiently, giving McCoy a weird look, "belong to me."

"Sarcasm, Spock. Remind me to explain the concept to you one day – and no, don't tell me you already know what it is – just... get what you need before you give me a headache."

"Very well."

Spock left McCoy's side and the surgeon glanced briefly to the heavens before running his hands through his hair, inadvertently creating a mini-Mohican. If he had ever known that packing with smart-ass Vulcans was so difficult, he would never have done it. But it was only a few hours until they were due at their cabin, and Spock had failed to pack. Apparently because the 'entire endeavour' was 'illogical', and he did not 'believe that the offer was made in sincerity' due to 'the level of your intoxication, Doctor'.

Needless to say, McCoy had not been in the best of moods when they had finally started packing, and his mood was rapidly deteriorating.

His thoughts were interrupted when Spock reappeared at his side holding a strange looking instrument – a cross between a harp and a guitar, from what he could see, and he raised a perplexed but slightly amused eyebrow.

"Music, Spock?"

"Indeed."

There was a brief pause as Spock simply stood there holding the instrument. "Well? What is it?" McCoy finally demanded.

"It is what you would call a Vulcan harp, Doctor, first employed in the year-"

"Never mind," McCoy said loudly. "Forget I asked – I don't want its life story. Is that all you need apart from what I've put in there already?"

"Affirmative."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Alright," he said, grabbing the instrument and stuffing it into the last available space, to Spock's horror, before lugging the bag out of Spock's quarters and beginning the long journey down the corridors to the transporter room.

"Doctor, perhaps you would allow me to carry the bag. I am, after all, more physically able."

"Are you calling me puny?" McCoy flared.

"Negative. I am merely stating that my Vulcan physique is more suited to heavy lifting."

"So you're calling the human race puny."

"I am doing no such thing," Spock protested, raising an eyebrow.

McCoy snorted. "Sure you're not. But I'm going to carry it, insults or no, because I don't trust you with it. Knowing you, you'd just run back into your quarters and lock yourself in until the end of vacation."

"It would be illogical to attempt to evade you whilst on this craft, Doctor, as your tenacity and audacity would lead to you opening every room you see until you find me, regardless of the inconvenience to others."

"That is definitely one of the perks to having a medical over-ride code," McCoy admitted, grinning impishly as the turbolift juddered to a halt and they spilled out into the corridor. "You'd just better hope that you don't get on the wrong side of me," he warned in mock-ominous tones. "I can be a force you wouldn't want to reckon with."

"I find that believable."

Any retort that McCoy was about to make was cut off by their reaching the transporter room and seeing Kirk inside, looking slightly impatient.

"_Spockie_ here," McCoy drawled, "seemed to think this was all a joke. I had to force him to pack and then lug this damn bag all the way down here-"

"I did offer you aid, Doctor."

"- so that he wouldn't run off and ruin the point of this trip."

"Well, now that you're both here, we should get going," Kirk stated, grinning in amusement as McCoy batted Spock's hands away from the bag. "Unless of course you haven't got your own luggage, Bones?"

McCoy blinked once, twice, opened his mouth and then shut it. "I was so busy worrying about the damn hobgoblin," he snarled, glaring at Spock, "that I forgot my own stuff."

"You'll either have to get it quickly or go without, Bones. We have to be there in ten minutes."

But McCoy was already out the door, a blue streak of swearing uniform, bellowing over his shoulder, "I'm going, damn it, I'm going!"

In the silence that followed, Kirk chuckled. "Typical."


	2. Gnometopia

**2. Gnometopia.**

McCoy huffed in annoyance as he lugged his large suitcase through the door to their temporary quarters, causing Spock behind him to raise an amused eyebrow.

"Why do they make these doors so damn small?" he demanded, dropping his luggage on the other side and turning around to look at Spock. "They must have some idea that people would have - alright, Spock, _how_ did you do that?"

Spock calmly placed his own bag on the floor, leaving the door open behind him. "I merely rotated both myself and my luggage according to the space provided. I fail to see your problem with the method of entry to our new quarters; had you properly applied yourself to the task in a logical and-"

"Spock."

"-proper manner," Spock continued blithely, "your struggles would never have been necessary."

"Yes, _thank you_," McCoy snapped, even more irritated when Kirk walked without trouble through the door moments later, glancing between them both.

"I'm not even going to ask," Kirk decided, closing the door.

McCoy shifted his focus to him immediately. "Damn it Jim, you just _had_ to pick a house with midget doors!"

"As a matter of fact, Doctor," Spock interrupted the argument, "the doors are of a perfect size."

"Oh _really_," McCoy drawled, "then why-"

"What he means," Kirk added hastily, "is that the doors are a perfect size for the creators of the house."

McCoy's rant stopped dead in its tracks. "What?" he squawked, looking shocked. "We're on a planet full of gnomes?"

"The appellation 'gnome' is unsurprisingly considered to be rather offensive in our current location," Spock said quietly. "They are in fact called the "p'tizhom"."

McCoy blinked at him. "To me, that just sounds like you're trying to pronounce French with a mouth full of sharp nails."

"...Why should I endeavour to achieve such a redundant feat?"

"Never mind," McCoy groaned.

"It's an expression," Kirk explained gently, grinning at them both.

"So where are we on Gnometopia?"

"Doctor-"

"I don't care what you say, Spock, that's how I think of it and that's how I'll describe it. Judging by the name of the people, my version will be a lot easier to pronounce than what they actually call it."

"We're at their north pole," Kirk replied, as though the acerbic comment had never existed.

"How fitting."

"More so than you think," Kirk replied.

McCoy instantly narrowed his eyes at him. "Spill it."

"Gnometopia-"

"Captain..."

"Sorry," Kirk said sheepishly. "P'tara-", McCoy snorted, "is a planet which prides itself on illusion. I arranged for our cottage to be separated from the rest of the community in its own illusion, so that we can see...certain things..."

"_Don't_ tell me you asked them to programme in Santa Clause."

Kirk's innocent expression made any further questioning useless.

"Great," McCoy ranted, "just great. I'm stuck here on a frozen ball of ice with doors made for Gnomes-"

"P'tizhom."

"-and a Vulcan computer correcting me at every turn!"

"You're the one who suggested this vacation, Bones."

"I didn't ever think we'd be stuck inside an insane, living snow globe!"

Spock made a thoughtful noise. "Fascinating."

McCoy wiped a hand across his face wearily. "I know I shouldn't ask, but..." he gasped in a great lungful of air, as though preparing himself for death, "what?"

"A snow globe containing contingent creatures would be an interesting -"

"Alright, no," McCoy snapped, lifting up a hand and screwing up his face comically, "I don't want to know anymore."

"The detriment is to your span of knowledge alone."

"...So that's what a Vulcanised idiom sounds like."

"I was unaware that I was in fact conversing in idioms." Spock cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Fascinating; human influence has reached such a point that my own habits would appear to be in a state of constant flux."

"That won't be the only thing in flux if you don't shut up," McCoy snapped.

"_Anyway_," Kirk said pointedly, "I've programmed our illusion to last for a week, so we get the proper feel of Christmas vacation. Fortunately for you, Bones, Santa will only show up once-"

"And we're not even supposed to _see_ him, that's the whole point of the legend."

Spock cocked his head to the side. "If Saint Nicholas is a being who we are not supposed to see, it would logically follow that there is no possible way to prove his existence. Any evidence of his presence in a location would of course be erased by him, and lack of sightings would not provide even visual evidence. Thus the entire belief on the legend is in fact impossible, given the lack of-"

"There's not supposed to be proof, Spock," McCoy sighed. "It's a legend – if there was proof, then it would be fact."

"The concept of a legend is highly illogical."

"Didn't they have them on Vulcan?"

"Before the logical reform, Doctor."

"Of course..." McCoy sighed and looked heavenwards. "I should have guessed."

"That would have been a useful turn of events, Doctor, as this entire section of the conversation would have been eradicated."

"I think this is going to be the first time I'll ever need to use a dictionary at Christmas," Kirk joked.

"Did you bring one with you, Captain?"

"...Not as such."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Spock, remember what we discussed about the difference between jokes and serious conversation?"

"Indeed I do, however it is extremely difficult to determine which comment belongs in which category."

"Maybe," Kirk ventured, "we should get the place heated up and our stuff packed, instead of standing in the hallway..."

"Better than discussing language with a walking computer," McCoy snarked, obediently hauling his luggage into the living room as though it were weighted down with gold.

In one smooth movement, Spock took it from him and proceeded to carry both McCoy's luggage and his own up the stairs, his feet barely making any sound and no sign of strain appearing on his face.

"Show off."

"I'm trying to get him to teach me to do that," Kirk joked, hauling his luggage upstairs after Spock.

McCoy was left in the living room, searching around for the thermostat but finding suspiciously little sign of one. What he did find, though, was an obnoxiously large Christmas tree which took up practically all the space in the room, leaving barely enough space for one sofa and an armchair. McCoy was slightly surprised to see that tinsel was on every available space, with baubles placed at regular intervals, even along the floor.

Opposite the chairs was a large fireplace, which McCoy noted with confusion was man-sized. He hoped that Kirk's Santa would never dare to venture into the house, but with Kirk, you could never be sure.

Muttering under his breath, McCoy moved aside garish decorations in an attempt to find the wall space, still with no thermostat in sight. Moments later the clatter of feet announced Kirk's arrival at the bottom of the stairs, and a quiet comment announced Spock's.

"Jim, they've hidden the thermostat."

"There isn't one – we have to use the fire."

McCoy sat up so fast that he banged his head on a stray branch of the Christmas tree. "_What_? I thought that was just to let your Santa-wannabe into the cottage!"

"Nope," Kirk replied, smiling inanely. "It's a fully fledged, completely operational fireplace."

"Alright – do we have any wood?"

"Negative."

"Alright," McCoy said again, starting to sound less and less composed the more bad news he received. "I'm now stuck in a snow globe without heating next to two suicidal lunatics."

Kirk strolled over to McCoy and slapped him affably on the shoulder. "Don't panic, Bones, we can easily collect firewood. There's a forest nearby."

"I was hoping we would never have to go in there," McCoy moaned. "It looked too much like a scene from Hansel and Gretel."

"That's the description I gave them when they were creating the illusion," Kirk admitted.

McCoy stared at him. "We're at the north pole next to the gingerbread house? How – _how, _does that even make any sense?"

"Well since we were going to the north pole," Kirk explained calmly, as though it made perfect sense, "I thought it would be a good idea to show Spock a few more Earth traditions and ideas – that happened to be one of the first that popped into my head."

"What am I supposed to expect next?" McCoy screeched, beginning to look slightly deranged in his shock. "Peter Pan and the lost boys coming in for turkey and stuffing? Captain Hook spearing a Christmas pudding and kissing Rapunzel under the mistletoe?"

"There's no need to go overboard, Bones."

McCoy took in a deep breath, obviously trying to reign himself in. "I thought I'd be used to your antics by now, but you're just as insane as ever."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kirk replied sincerely, grinning. "Now, before you add being a human icicle to that list of unlikely events, I think we should go and get some firewood."

"Fine," McCoy scowled, "but if you start wearing a red bonnet and picking flowers I'm leaving you in those woods forever."

"A red bonnet and flowers?" Spock questioned, eyebrows disappearing.

"Red Riding Hood," Kirk explained.

"I don't think that limited explanation has helped him much," McCoy said wryly.

"I'll explain it to you on the way, Spock," Kirk promised, leading the way back out of the cottage and into the darkening landscape beyond.


	3. Gingerbread

**3. Gingerbread.**

"What," McCoy demanded, searching the gloom with frantic eyes, "was that?"

"No idea."

"How can you sound so damn _cheerful_? We're lost in a wood!"

"We are not lost, Doctor," Spock said flatly.

"Temporarily displaced, ignorant of our surroundings or walking around aimlessly – that's us. That also happens to be what 'lost' means. So," he growled, "that's what we are!"

"I disagree."

"Of course you would, you damn walking Sat Nav!"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "A surprisingly archaic reference from you, Doctor."

Before McCoy could reply, Kirk jumped in with a cheerful grin, pointing into the distance. "Well Spock, now you know what a gingerbread house looks like..."

Spock raised his eyebrows, clearly nonplussed. "Indeed."

Just visible through the forest of trees was a small cottage. At first sight it looked innocent; old and worn in with a thin plume of smoke rising from the chimney. You could almost picture the garden filled with flowers that grow out of sight, the little old lady who sat outside on summer days to bask in the sun.

But there were certain aspects, not really noticeable unless they were looked for, that hinted at the fact that this was no ordinary house. There was no birdsong. It was as though the building was shrouded in silence, its appearance so eerily sweet that nature had decided to avoid it. Shadows seemed to creep towards it, though the clearing was of considerable width.

It was for these reasons that, rather than continuing to stare in bewilderment, McCoy abruptly turned around and began making his way away from it.

"Where are you going?" Kirk demanded.

"Away from that thing," McCoy shot back. "Don't you _read_ fairy tales? That place is a death trap-"

"It's fine," Kirk insisted. "I told the programmers to only include the house. There's nothing living there."

McCoy peered at it suspiciously. "I'm not going in."

Kirk simply grinned at him. "Would you rather be left here? I asked them to include quite a lot of wildlife-"

"And yet all of it is silent around the house. I'm not going."

Kirk was beginning to look annoyed, but still attempted to hide it with a good natured smile. "Well I didn't go to all this effort not to explore it. Do you want to take a look, Spock?"

Spock glanced between the two men, his expression unreadable. Finally, curiosity seemed to win out. "Very well."

McCoy threw his hands into the air. "Great – now _I'm_ going!" At Spock's confused expression, he added, "I'm not letting you two suicidal maniacs go in there without some kind of medical help. Knowing you two, you'll need it by the time you're finished."

"It's a _house_, Bones."

"Made of gingerbread," McCoy grumbled as they made their way over to it. "That's my _point_."

"Doctor?"

McCoy sighed, glancing at the stoic Vulcan beside him. "If you even knew the story, you'd understand why I'm worried. Knowing Jim, we're going to find out the illusion goes wrong and we'll be attacked by a vicious old lady with cutlery."

"Nothing's wrong with it," Kirk shot over his shoulder as he pushed open the front door. "But I've always wondered how a gingerbread house can have a fireplace in it-"

"That's what'll happen," McCoy decided. "We're going to get burnt to death."

"How so, Doctor?"

"...Gingerbread is flammable, surely."

The door slammed shut.

"Well," Kirk quipped, "it seems they got the doors right."

McCoy let out the breath he'd been holding. "What?" he squawked.

"They're automatic," Kirk replied. "Timed to swing shut after a certain amount of time being left open."

"You," McCoy sputtered, his heart racing, "you _knew_ all of this would happen and you _deliberately_ tried to unnerve me!"

"It worked."

"Yes, but-"

The lights went out, leaving them in pitch blackness.

"Damn it, Jim, that's not very funny!"

"That wasn't me."

"Then what..." McCoy trailed off as he heard a slight rustling in the dark to his left.

Something was approaching, slowly, its feet dragging slightly along the floor. A wheezing sound escaped it, as though the person was injured. Or very old.

"Jim..."

"Are you injured?" Spock enquired suddenly, and loudly.

"That was in my _ear_, Spock," McCoy hissed, rubbing the side of his head and grimacing.

There was silence.

"No one's answering."

"Yes, Jim, thanks for pointing that out – where's the damn door?"

"It is possible that they are unable to, Captain. Perhaps I should investigate."

"The illusion's gone _wrong_, you stubborn, pointy eared idio-"

The lights came on, leaving all three men blinking.

McCoy was the first to gasp and attempt again to back away, his back banging into the heavy door and his hands struggling to find the handle. There wasn't one.

Spock was staring openly at the approaching creatures, no eyebrows raised. It was almost as though he was too surprised to react. Kirk was beside him, still as a statue, and McCoy could not see his face.

An old woman stood a few feet away, weight heavily placed on a cane as she shuffled closer and closer, wheezing. Her eyes were wide and slightly unfocussed; drool was beginning to pool in the corner of her mouth.

Surrounding her were children in varying states of decay. Some had blackened limbs which spoke of being caught in a fire; others had empty, staring sockets. All of them, McCoy noticed with horror, seemed slightly over-fed.

"My God," Kirk breathed, springing into life and moving further into the room.

"Jim! Where-"

"That door doesn't open," Kirk explained quickly, looking slightly guilty. "We have to go to a different one..."

"It would appear that your plan has backfired, Captain."

"No kidding," McCoy growled.

"Doctor, you must move."

When McCoy remained frozen in place, staring at the old lady who was now smiling with rotten teeth, Spock lunged forwards, lifted McCoy up, and proceeded to haul him across the room. The dead sockets and deranged eyes followed their progress, the figures shuffling towards them.

Suddenly, one of them lunged, leaping into the air with surprising speed as it surged straight at Spock and McCoy. McCoy found himself inexplicably swinging around, the world tipping, and his feet connected with the creature's jaw. Spock's arms remained around him, pulling him out the room. The creature lay on the floor, stunned.

"Holy hell, Spock, don't swing me like that _ever_ again!"

"There was no alternative option available, Doctor."

"Next time at least give me a bit of warning."

"This isn't exactly the time to be arguing," Kirk interrupted, already on the other end of the dark room.

Knocking sounds were coming from the room they had just left, a cruel parody of politeness. Somehow, that only served to make it worse.

"Do you know the location of the exit, Captain?"

"Location of the-" McCoy sputtered, unable to form a coherent sentence. "We're being chased by burned, decomposing zombies and a psychotic pensioner, and you're talking like an airplane steward!"

"Let's just _go_," Kirk snapped, glaring at McCoy one more time before yanking open the door and stepping through it, McCoy close on his heels.

"Spock?"

Kirk glanced back at the Vulcan, who had yet to move from his position next to the door, one arm outstretched to lie on the smooth wood.

"I must prevent their entry."

"_What_?"

"Should I move, Doctor, they shall resume their attack."

"You can't just stay there!"

"I must."

"Spock, come here," Kirk ordered. When Spock hesitated, Kirk added, "I know the way from here and I'll be ready to close this door once you get through. I'm not leaving you there."

"Captain, I need not remind you that they possess considerable speed and agility."

"Just get your green ass over here _now_, damn it!"

After that very eloquent command, Spock seemed to be spurred into action. Time slowed down as his hand came off the door and the knocking abruptly stopped, to be replaced by the door sliding open, sliver by sliver, in silence.

Spock sprinted forwards immediately; face fixed on the doorway just beyond which McCoy and Kirk were standing. A single finger appeared on the doorframe, then two, then a hand – the fingers black and nail less.

The Vulcan was only halfway across the room when the door suddenly slammed open, crashing into the wall next to it, bits of gingerbread flaking from the area of impact. The doorway was packed with staring children, the old woman standing behind them, seemingly poised for a fight.

All children leapt forwards at the same instant, teeth bared or toothless gums gaping, hands outstretched, some bleeding. The stench of rotting flesh hit the room like a hammer, moving forward faster than Spock, who was only inches away from the horrible beings.

"Run, Bones."

"Spock-"

"I'll help him. Just go."

No sooner had Kirk said this than Spock finally reached them, grabbing frantically at the doorframe against the pulling hands, the strong fingers that grabbed at his clothes. Strain began to show on his face as more and more latched on, like leeches, and began prying him away.

With a feral cry, one of the creatures jumped onto his back, leaned over his shoulder, and began pulling at the fingers one by one.

Swearing, McCoy ignored Kirk's order and made a grab for the Vulcan. Kirk, his eye holding a malicious glint that usually meant imminent death, gave the creature on Spock's back a solid punch, knocking in half of the rotted face with a crunch, sending the creature tumbling backwards, into the path of its fellows.

It was trampled instantly.

Soon the two humans were pulling at the Vulcan, gaining him inch by inch, all three faces screwed up in concentration or fear. The old lady had begun to shuffle into the room, her cane in one hand and a recipe book in the other, her mouth drooling obscenely, even comically.

This gave them another burst of strength.

With an almighty tug Spock stumbled through the door which Kirk then slammed shut. Several thuds followed, accompanied by less than melodious wails of pain.

"So," McCoy gasped, "where to now?"

"Downstairs."

"We're barricading ourselves in?"

Kirk somehow found the time to give McCoy a weird look as he hurried to the next door. "No – there's a secret passage down there that leads from the basement to the forest."

"And you just _happened_ to think it might be necessary for the program."

"Well," Kirk said sheepishly, "not before the illusion went wrong. This was for artistic effect."

"Is there anything downstairs we should know about? A werewolf, perhaps, or a drug smoking caterpillar?"

"No caterpillar, no."

There was a pregnant pause.

"And the werewolf, Captain?"

"...He should be asleep..."

"Oh _wonderful_."


	4. Werewolves

**4. Werewolves.**

"In that case," Spock said quietly, "I recommend stealth."

McCoy stared at him. "I'd make a sarcastic comment, but I really think it'd be wasted at this point."

"That is gratifying, Doctor, as there is no time to spare for human idiosyncrasies."

"Just...let's go," Kirk finally said, looking torn between exasperation and amusement at their continued argument. "I'll go first, Spock, you bring up the rear."

McCoy scowled as Spock moved to stand behind him, no doubt keeping an eye out for anything that could possibly attack them from behind. He could only hope that Vulcan strength could stand up to the creatures.

Kirk moved further into the room and began knocking on the wall, ear pressed close to it in an effort to hear any echoes.

McCoy rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. "I should have known you'd come up with something like that."

Kirk, however, did not hear him. "I found it!" he announced, stepping back to allow the wall to swing outwards, revealing a deep black passage beyond. "Luckily I asked for this wall to be wood, or we'd have no way of opening the passage."

"Blast apart the gingerbread," McCoy murmured.

"With what, Bones?"

"Don't ask me, _you're_ the one who came up with this entire crack pot scheme."

"And I'm going to get us out of it," Kirk replied. "Alright, follow me you two."

With that, he ducked into the passage and began walking slowly forwards, grasping the walls so as to have some idea where he was. McCoy followed close behind, his eyes straining to keep sight of Kirk ahead of him by the light of the room.

Which abruptly went out.

McCoy swore and promptly tripped, knocking Kirk over as he landed on him.

"Damn it – why do your lights _always_ do this at the most inconvenient moments?" he demanded.

Kirk made a guilty noise in the back of his throat. "Remind me never to programme anything ever again."

"That can be arranged, Captain."

A pair of strong hands helped them both up without effort, righting them in the darkness and then leading them back to their previous places by the wall.

"Spock," McCoy began wearily, "can you see in here?"

"Of course. You as my surgeon should know, Doctor, that vulcans have quite remarkable eyesight stemming from the changeable lighting of our home planet."

"You can't really blame me for forgetting, under these circumstances..."

"Indeed."

"Maybe you should go in front then, Spock, and I'll take up the rear," Kirk finally decided.

What followed was some fairly loud scuffling as Kirk struggled to find his way past McCoy and over to where Spock was, without crashing into the hard walls of the tunnel. McCoy made himself as scarce as possible by pressing his back into the wall, but that didn't stop some toe-trampling and swearing caused by the captain.

"Well," McCoy found himself saying once Spock effortlessly moved to the front, "I think we woke up the werewolf."

"Probably."

"Gentlemen..."

Both humans took their cue from Spock and fell silent immediately, McCoy placing his hands on Spock's shoulders in order to follow him more easily. Spock stiffened.

"This is no time for your 'do not touch me' attitude," McCoy snapped, trying not to let the darkness unnerve him.

"I apologise, Doctor. You merely caught me unaware."

"Sorry...Jim...where are you?"

"Right here."

McCoy jumped. "When did you get that close? Never mind. Just put your hands on my shoulders – that is _not_ my shoulder, Jim, congratulations, you're feeling up my chest."

If it wasn't so dark, McCoy was sure that he would be able to see Kirk blushing. "Sorry."

The hands repositioned themselves and they began to move forwards, Spock's keen vision ensuring that they did not make nearly as slow progress as they would have done if Kirk had been in front.

A sudden presence in McCoy's path made him stop abruptly, Kirk crashing into his back. "Spock?"

"There is a wall, Doctor."

"Could have given us some warning before we turned into human sardines in this tunnel..."

"I'll explain later, Spock," Kirk said as they heard a confused sound.

"Very well. I believe that this merely needs a small exertion of-"

"Just do it, Spock," McCoy muttered.

There was a small creak.

"_Quietly_."

"That is not possible, Doctor. We shall have to risk waking the werewolf."

Another creak, this time echoed by a growl. McCoy swore heartily under his breath. Slowly, the door to the end of the tunnel opened, allowing a sliver of light into the dark area where they were standing. Kirk immediately let go of McCoy and moved to stand closer to the entrance, pressing all three of them uncomfortably into the wall.

"Can you see anything?" McCoy whispered.

Kirk simply shook his head and moved back to his old place. "It's too bright out there for me to see anything yet. We'll have to get used to the light before we come out the tunnel – it'll give us a better chance to defend ourselves."

"What if it smells us?"

"Then we are decidedly without fortune, Doctor."

"Well that's one way of putting it," Kirk replied, slightly amused despite everything.

There was another growl and a scuffing of paws against a rough floor. "It has seen us," Spock announced. "I believe we shall be able to leave the tunnel, however, it appears relatively unthreatening."

"It's either threatening or it isn't," McCoy growled. "Which is it?"

"It shall not devour you, Doctor."

"But given the speed of the children," Kirk finished, "we should give it the benefit of the doubt."

"Fine," McCoy muttered. "Let's go out and get ripped to shreds."

Spock opened the door all the way, letting light filter into the passageway and blind McCoy within seconds. Gripping the vulcan's shoulder convulsively and with eyes squinted mostly closed, McCoy felt himself moving out of the tunnel and further into the blinding white light, heart hammering.

Footsteps behind him told him that Kirk was doing the same – with much more grace, he thought angrily – and had come to a halt beside Spock. Both let out sighs of relief (not that Spock would admit to such a thing).

"Well?"

"There is no further need to remain attached to my shoulders, Doctor, I believe your vision should no longer be impaired."

McCoy obligingly lowered his hands and slowly opened his eyes, blinking. Then he laughed, the sound bordering on slight hysteria as he regarded the animal before him.

"A _puppy_?" he squawked, wiping tears from his eyes. "We went through all that to find a puppy?"

"We must not underestimate its strength, Doctor," Spock said, completely serious.

McCoy held up his hands in silent surrender. "Alright, then, let's inch around this destructive beast and go home. Hopefully," he added pointedly, "with some firewood, since we never actually collected any."

"I'm glad you're being practical at the moment, Bones, and not imitating a shrieking banshee."

"Don't get used to it."

Slowly, painfully slowly, they crept around the harmless looking puppy in the room, who stared at them with wide, innocent eyes. It got up and padded quietly over to them, tongue hanging out and panting cheerfully, tail wagging.

"Do we risk it?" Kirk asked.

"You go into an abandoned, freaky house but you're too frightened to touch a dog," McCoy muttered. "This is just getting weird."

"I recommend that we leave, Captain, we do not know of its abilities."

"Kung Fu Canine," McCoy replied, grinning. "That's something I'd like to see."

Kirk rolled his eyes at him. "Alright, the rest of the tunnel is this way." He walked over to yet another wall and began knocking on it again, until a panel swung forward.

"You took no chances with this, did you, Jim? If we didn't get murdered by the rampaging loonies upstairs we'd get eaten to death by a 'werewolf', all while frantically knocking around on walls in an attempt to escape."

Kirk had evidently decided not to reply, as he stepped into the tunnel without a word, heading towards the forest and home without even waiting to see if the other two officers were following.

What felt like hours of trekking and bickering later, they finally emerged from the tunnel, blinking, to find that the moon was starting to emerge from the inky black shadow of the treetops, lighting up their surroundings. To their relief, they were a respectable distance away from the Gingerbread Cottage of Death, as McCoy had dubbed it, and on the path towards their own quarters.

"Well," Kirk said, sounding too cheerful after what had just happened, "you were right, Bones. It did all go wrong."

"At least it's finally got you admitting I was right," McCoy shot back, grinning out of the relief of their escape. "Now where's the firewood..."

Spock and Kirk exchanged raised eyebrows as they watched McCoy ambling randomly down the path, searching for sticks suitable for using on a fire. Shrugging, Kirk moved over to join him, a confused (yet slightly amused but not willing to show it) Vulcan following.


	5. Christmas Eve

**5. Christmas Eve.**

Starlight streamed through the window, casting a slightly eerie glow about Spock's face, making him appear even more alien as he stared through the glass into the world outside, enraptured by the falling snow.

A fire crackled in the fireplace, heating up the house after their cold day traipsing around the wood once again to find appropriate wood. Since their foray into the mysterious gingerbread house they had encountered no further weird situations, much to McCoy's relief.

Kirk was reading a book in a chair near to the fire, leaving McCoy the last available spot left in the room, leaning away from branches that seemed to be making a lunge for his neck. Lifting his glass to his lips once more, he reflected that perhaps, for once, this planet side visit had not been as bad as they were usually.

Well, with the obvious exception of their first trip for firewood, but they had soon learnt how to avoid things that Kirk had 'arranged' to happen. And now, on Christmas Eve, McCoy was finally able to sit back and relax with his favourite type of brandy, something which Kirk had banned before now because it was not yet well into Christmas.

But it was now, McCoy thought with relish as the liquid swirled around his mouth before he swallowed, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

"Have you read this book, Spock?" Kirk suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

McCoy tried not to jump, he really did, but being broken out of his thoughts like that was never something he'd been able to stand with anything approaching dignity. So he spilled his drink down himself.

"I do not believe I have, Captain," Spock replied, over McCoy's muttered rantings.

"Jim, Spock."

"My apologies."

There was a brief silence as Kirk turned a page, his face taking on the dreamy quality he always had when he was either thinking or reading. "It's a good story," he continued softly, "you should try it sometime."

Spock regarded the book for a moment, eyes evaluating the title and the name of the author. "I believe I shall do that, C...Jim."

Kirk smiled. "I'll lend it to you, you only have to ask."

"Why is it you never lend me books?" McCoy asked, knowing exactly what was coming.

The smile did not waver. "I wouldn't even if you asked, Bones. Every time I see a book of yours, it's dog eared and trampled."

"Usually because I read them, not worship them."

"You abuse them," Kirk replied, diving back into his own book.

"The things I put up with," McCoy muttered, though there was a wide grin stretching across his face.

"You did instigate the conversation, Doctor."

"If you're calling Jim by his name," McCoy said wearily, "at least do the same for me."

"Very well, LeOnard."

McCoy buried his head in his hands, laughing. "Wow..."

"Have I said something inappropriate, LeOnard?"

McCoy just laughed harder. "No, you're fine..."

"You're pronouncing his name wrong," Kirk pointed out, grinning. "It's 'Leonard'."

Spock's eyebrow flew to his hairline. "Indeed? I apologise for the inconvenience, gentlemen."

"I suppose it would be going too far to ask that you call us 'guys'?"

"I don't think he'd ever say that, Bones."

"Worth a try," McCoy muttered, plunging back into his brandy.

The hours gradually ticked by, punctuated by the rustling of turning pages and clinking of glasses as both Kirk and McCoy entertained themselves. No sound whatsoever came from the Vulcan; it was almost as though he were a statue. Although, McCoy thought with a snicker, you could probably hear the gears turning in that mechanical mind of his if you went close enough.

"Don't you believe in entertainment, Spock?" Kirk asked, his voice light and conversational, a finger marking the place in his book as he looked at the Vulcan in question.

"I am entertained."

McCoy snorted in disbelief. "I never knew Vulcans went in for daydreaming."

"I am hardly 'daydreaming', Leonard, I am in fact completing a computation that-"

"You're not meant to be doing work on vacation!"

An eyebrow rose. "This computation is of the utmost importance, Leonard."

"Then isn't the conversation distracting?" Kirk asked, curious.

"Negative. I am able to perform many tasks simultaneously."

"Show off."

"Leonard?"

McCoy looked back at Spock in surprise. "How did you not hear me with ears like that?"

Spock cocked an eyebrow but did not reply, instead turning his gaze back to the window, where the darkness had become more intense. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed midnight. The fire had died down by now, leaving only glowing embers in its wake.

"Gentlemen."

"What?" McCoy looked up from his glass to see Spock staring at the chimney, a look of confusion upon his face.

"It seems that an anonymous individual is attempting to gain access to our lodgings."

"You'd be useless in a crime series," McCoy muttered. "By the time you get your words out, the robber would have been and gone..."

"I know what it is," Kirk said, ignoring McCoy completely.

"Another illusion?"

"Yes...but hopefully this one didn't go wrong."

No sooner had he said this than there was a loud thud, a mini mushroom cloud of smoke, and several strings of inventive swearwords as the visitor attempted to right himself. He was large, dressed in red, sported a beard, and-

"Oh God," McCoy groaned under his breath, "a shaking bowlful of jelly belly."

"Damn it – does _no one_ put out their fires, anymore?"

"Please accept out apologies," Spock offered to the figure. "We were unaware of your impending arrival."

The figure whipped around at the sound of speech and stared at them, pulling at the studs in his ears in confusion. "So," he said in the poshest, most ridiculous British accent that McCoy had ever heard, "what have we here then, chaps?"

"Er..."

"You'll have to wait until my elf gets down here, I'm afraid – he's unbelievably slow, sometimes. Unfortunately I have to take him along with me now," the man explained, "because delivering presents through chimneys by myself, in the modern age no less, is absolute murder on the back. Yet for some reason people expect me to. Ridiculous," he huffed, stamping his doc martins to get rid of residual soot, "what with computers and all that lot. The sacks are just huge."

All three officers gaped.

Santa Clause peered at them anxiously. "You don't mind, do you, that he's coming in?"

"Er..." Kirk finally managed, "no. But you're certainly not what I expected."

Santa held up a finger. "One moment." He turned around and bellowed up the chimney so loudly that it seemed the very foundations of the room shook. "Get your ruddy arse down here now, you lazy ingrate! Christmas doesn't bring itself around, you know!"

He turned back to them. "Now, what was I saying?"

"I..."

There was a large thud as a giant sack landed at the bottom of the chimney.

Santa rushed over to it, muttering, and rifled through its contents, all the while yelling at the elf, who was now climbing slowly into the room. "How many times have I told you, do _not_ dump the bag on the floor, there are breakable objects in there!"

"Whatever," the elf muttered.

"Aren't you supposed to be full of Christmas cheer?" McCoy asked warily.

The elf laughed at him. "Christmas cheer?" he repeated in a squeaky voice. "I ran out of _that_ two years ago. Do you know, I handed in my five week notice to that blubbery idiot over there-"

"Oi! Watch it," Santa snapped, yanking the bag closed.

"- and never got allowed to leave the job. Every time I'm about to, he ties me to the sled and takes me around the world delivering his stupid presents. And," he added, "it's not even like it's _necessary_ to go around the world, is it, because not everyone even celebrates Christmas. _He_," the elf continued, jerking his head in Santa's direction, "just can't bear to admit that he's not as popular as he thinks he is."

"I see," Spock replied, seriously. It was all McCoy could do not to burst out laughing at that moment.

"You need a trade union," Kirk added.

The elf snorted and threw his hands into the air. "I've never heard a stupider idea in my life!"

"What?"

"Do you have stuffing for brains or something, lad?" the elf demanded. "Trade Unions never work at the north pole; the wildlife – which, by the way, _he_ promised he'd house train – keep eating the leaders!"

"Then it would appear that you have a problem."

"No kidding," the elf snarled, angry red splotches beginning to appear on his cheeks. "Wait a minute – what are you doing _here_? You're not supposed to be seen, you idiot!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're an elf, aren't you? Sure, a very tall one," the elf continued, "and you're not meant to be seen-"

"You've just been seen!" McCoy pointed out.

"Yes, but that's because you didn't respect the law of Christmas Eve and go to bed! It's not _my_ fault if I come in here, innocently doing my job, to find people staring at me, and now this guy," he pointed at Spock, "just-"

"Twinky," Santa warned, "shut up."

"Twinky?" Kirk and McCoy repeated, staring in disbelief at the foul mouthed elf.

"I _hate_ that name. _Now _do you see why I want to quit? Stupid names are part of the contract."

"Jim, I think this illusion has gone wrong as well," McCoy whispered.

"Very obviously..."

"So!" Santa said, clapping his hands together and making all of his jewellery clang, "which of you is which? I have some presents for you."

"I'm Captain Kirk."

"Kirk..." Santa muttered, returning to the bag and sifting through it. "Kirk...how is that spelt?"

Kirk spelled it out for him patiently, his expression curious despite himself as he watched the failed illusion search through a mound of brightly coloured gifts.

"Ah! Here we go." Santa Clause presented Kirk with a gift, smiling madly. "Enjoy."

Kirk immediately ripped off the wrapping paper, staring in shock at the object lying in his hands. "Ah...you gave me a..."

"Yes, my boy, I heard about your rather _frequent_ fancies with exotic women," Santa boomed, clapping Kirk on the shoulder. "I thought that larger equipment would satisfy your rather larger than usual craving."

Spock peered at Kirk's present curiously, plucking it out of his hands and deftly examining it. "Fascinating, it would appear to vibrate..." he promptly turned it on and held the shaking object, eyebrows at his hairline.

Kirk coughed. "Er...Spock? If you give it back I'll put it out of sight."

Spock calmly handed over Kirk's present, facial expression unchanging, and McCoy struggled to smother his laughter inside a sudden coughing fit.

"And for the Doctor...which one of you – ah, there you are. Here, this is for you."

McCoy opened his package warily, wondering if he was about to get humiliated as Kirk had just been. Once the paper was unwrapped, he stared at the implement in his hands blankly. It was a saw.

"Fascinating."

"It does, of course, fit your nickname," Santa chimed in happily. "Now, for the Vulcan...I think it's here, yes, here it is!"

Spock was handed his package, which he stared at curiously. And continued to stare at it.

"Spock," Kirk murmured, "you're supposed to open it." In the corner, the elf rolled its eyes.

Slowly, hesitantly, Spock opened the package, finding a box large enough to fit on his head. Santa nodded at him in encouragement, and with a barely suppressed sigh, Spock put the box on. What resulted was Spock looking as though he was peering out from a screen of some kind, face expressionless.

"Very...computer-like," Kirk finally managed.

Spock took the present off, nodding. "Indeed."

"You don't mind if I use the front door instead of climbing back up the chimney, do you? I'm getting quite sick of losing my pick axes, to be honest."

"It's open," Kirk affirmed. "But what about your slei-"

Santa produced a key ring, from which a sole key dangled, shining brightly in the light. He pressed a button once, which flashed, and they heard an answering beep from somewhere on the roof. "Just like a car – amazing, isn't it?"

Without waiting for an answer, he lifted the sack onto his shoulders and trudged towards the front door, almost knocking over the Christmas tree on the way out. "You'll like my sleigh-"

"They can't see that!" Twinky yelled. "They've seen too much already!"

"Will you stop being so paranoid?" Santa demanded. "I just bought my new sleigh," he continued, turning back to the officers. "It's much better than that old heap of junk I used to drive – powered on Christmas spirit," he snorted, "really. _Now_," he announced, opening the door and revealing his obvious pride and joy, "it's powered by flame."

"Flame?" McCoy asked, dubious.

"What else? Here, let me show you." Santa plopped the bag into the back seat and clambered into the vehicle; a sleek, huge, black jeep with spikes sticking out of the wheels. "I just turn the key and – _whoosh_!"

On cue, flames leapt out of the exhaust pipe, burning a nearby bush to a cinder.

"Works like a charm."

"I..." McCoy opened and closed his mouth, speechless. "Right."

"Christmas is, I believe, the oddest Earth ritual that I have encountered," Spock announced.

Santa leaned casually on his steering wheel and grinned at him. "You better believe it," he said, shoving sunglasses onto his face before turning up the stereo."Now, who would like a ride?"


	6. Around the Continents in 80 Minutes

**6. Around the Continent in 80 Minutes.**

"A ride?" Kirk repeated, looking far too pleased for McCoy's liking.

"Sure, why not?" Santa asked, beaming from ear to ear. "I've got all night and this is my last continent. Don't worry, you won't get lost."

"_No_," McCoy muttered into Kirk's ear.

"Oh, come on, Bones, it'll be-"

"Do you not remember the _last_ time we tried to go along with an illusion?"

"Yes, but that was-"

"No different. Exactly."

"Bones, you didn't let me finish. I think we should go. Spock?"

"I am not averse to the concept."

"Great!" Kirk chirped, clapping his hands together. "Alright, we'll go."

"Brilliant!" Santa boomed.

Twinky the elf looked supremely un-amused. "Great, more idiots in the car. As if Santa wasn't a big enough one already..."

"Climb in, chaps, climb in, I don't bite."

"Well," McCoy snarked under his breath, "I'm not so sure we should trust what _you_ say, you weird, posh English punk..."

"Oxymoronic, isn't it?" Santa asked, obviously having heard what McCoy said.

"Social graces aren't exactly your strong point, are they?" Twinky asked.

"Speak for yourself."

"I always go by the philosophy that it takes one to know one."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I can't take much more of this."

"We have only been conversing with them for half an hour, Leonard."

"Feels like half a century."

"Right, everyone put on a seatbelt and a parachute."

Everyone automatically scrambled for a parachute, strapping that on before moving onto the usual type of seatbelt usually found in earth cars. Pushing his foot down on the acceleration, Santa allowed the engine to rev, raising his eyebrows and then waggling them, grinning so much that it seemed his face would split. In the back, Twinky moaned and grumbled, looking airsick already.

After a few more seconds of revving (and melting snow around them), the sleigh shot forwards, careering wildly from side to side, bouncing up and down as it tried to get off the floor. Snow sprayed from the wheels, which seemed continuously on the verge of skidding completely out of control whenever Santa yanked the steering wheel.

They began charging towards the dark woods, narrowly avoiding several items of shrubbery on the way, the sound of a retching elf getting drowned into the background beneath Santa's ecstatic whooping. Heavy metal music blasted from the speakers and Santa began singing along, unconcerned at the fact that they were not yet off the floor.

McCoy opened his mouth to demand that they turn around – or stop and let him out – but the sleigh hit a large bump at exactly that moment, and what came from his mouth was a surprisingly loud and surprisingly high pitched shriek of absolute terror, right when the song finished.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"And I thought I had it bad," Twinky muttered, not lifting his face from his travel sick bag.

"If I knew you were going to have a panic attack," Santa said, laughing, "I would have gotten into the air ages ago. Here," he pushed a button and they rose smoothly, the tops of the trees scraping along the bottom of the sleigh, "is that better?"

McCoy gasped, white knuckles clutching his seatbelt. "Yes," he managed, still too shocked to say anything more.

Spock examined him, looking supremely unconcerned with the turbulence they had just experienced. "Given the fact that you possess an occupation in space, Leonard, and thus deal with turbulence on a regular basis, it may be beneficial for you if you attempted to rectify your aviation problem."

"It would," McCoy said, "but since this is psychological and I'm one of the only psychiatrists on board, I've already tried. And it hasn't worked."

"Obviously," Twinky muttered.

"Perhaps you should consult a colleague."

"I'm _not_ letting them mess around with my head, Spock."

Kirk chuckled. "You know, for a doctor you're surprisingly paranoid."

"How else do you think I manage to find and cure the weird things you come down with?"

"So," Santa interrupted, staring back at all of them and not looking where he was going at all, "you're from space, are you?"

"Negative-"

"Eyes on the road!" Twinky snapped.

"-however, we occupy an interstellar vessel. Originally, I am from Vulcan."

"And we're from Earth," Kirk added, gesturing at McCoy and himself.

"Never heard of it."

"Never heard of it?" McCoy asked. "But didn't you hear of it when you were making the illusion?"

Santa snorted. "Illusion? You really are strange, you know that? There's no such thing as an illusion."

"That statement is illogical."

Santa let go of the steering wheel and turned around to gesture emphatically at them. "Number one," he said, lifting up one finger, "I've-"

"The wheel!" Twinky screeched, watching it begin to spin and take the car with it.

"- never seen one."

They were upside down, now, only kept in their seats through the sheer strength of the seatbelts. Now, even Kirk was beginning to look worried.

"The wheel!"

"And number two," Santa added, lifting up a second finger and absent-mindedly righting the car, "how would it work? It wouldn't look real, it'd be like talking with ghosts."

"So you're not one?"

Santa snorted at McCoy. "You're a mad one, old boy. Absolutely off the deep end."

Twinky, barf bag in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other, was bouncing up and down in his seat. Vomit sloshed all over him. "When will you learn to drive?"

"You know I have my license."

"Then bloody use it, you klutz!"

"How would that help?" Santa asked, finally turning back to see where he was going. "I can't ask for it to drive for me, can I?"

Winky sighed. "He's the stupidest Santa we've ever had."

"I thought Santa Clause is meant to be immortal?" Kirk asked.

Winky snorted. "No, and I'm glad he's not. Can you imagine dealing with that idiot for all eternity? No, only the elves are immortal. We vote among ourselves to see which applicant we think is good enough for the job. Obviously, I didn't vote for this one."

"You can apply for the job of Santa?" McCoy asked, incredulous.

Winky gave him a funny look. "How else would you get it?"

"I just thought..."

"Well you thought wrong, didn't you? I've been fighting to get this guy sacked for decades-"

"How long has he had the job?" Kirk interrupted.

"Forty years. I was telling a story."

"Sorry. I was just wondering..."

Twinky rolled his eyes. "I knew he was no good, from the very start. What kind of Santa has to dye his hair white and put on a fake beard every Christmas? He should have his own."

"Surely the appearance of your applicant is inconsequential," Spock said calmly. "You do have a policy regarding anonymity."

"This is in case he's seen, and the other elves always think it's funny to make the man look stupid. It's only once every year, after all, not like it's all the time."

"So for the rest of the year they look normal?" Kirk asked.

"As normal as you can get, yes. Though we've had some eccentrics."

"Fascinating."

"Twinky!" Santa called, looking slightly anxious. "Which way do we go from here?"

"For God's...you do this route every year!" Twinky yelled back, hopping over them to get to the front and sit by the man in red. "You missed the turning ten minutes ago!"

"Oh."

"Well now we're going to have to turn around."

"Alright. Hang on everyone."

With that warning, Santa pulled a lever and locked the steering wheel in place, his face a mask of grim determination. The car began to shoot forwards even faster before climbing gradually into the sky, seeming to make a mad dash towards the moon. Soon, they were vertical in the air.

"I need my bag," Twinky moaned.

"No," McCoy muttered, seeing the elf begin to make a move for it, "stay there, you're going to..."

"Too late," Kirk pointed out, helpfully, as Twinky vomited in McCoy's lap.

Upside down now, Santa yanked the wheel, spinning them around so that they ended up the right way up, heading back in the direction they had originally been going in. Twinky grabbed his bag and hopped back into the navigator seat, leaving behind an annoyed looking McCoy.

"Now, turn right at that tree – no, the other one. Well we can't get back now, can we, we're lost in the woods!"

"Watch out for the lake."

"Damn it Jim, shut up," McCoy muttered. "If I can't see it, it means it's not there – you saying it out loud doesn't help."

"Perhaps you should open your eyes, Leonard."

"Why?"

"In the event of a crash-"

"_Don't_ say it!"

"Very well."

"Duck," Twinky was insisting, furiously. "Duck, you idiot, _duck_!"

"The lever's jammed!" Santa bellowed back, his patience having run out. "I thought you said it was fixed!"

"_I'm_ not the mechanic," Twinky pointed out. "Ask him what went wrong with it."

"Ladies and gentlemen-"

McCoy opened his eyes and looked around. "Who's the lady?"

"-it seems like we're going to crash," Santa finished, flailing with the steering wheel and slapping the jammed lever as though it had personally offended him. "The exits are-"

He never managed to finish his sentence, because with an almighty thud and impressive sound effects, the sleigh slammed into the snowy ground and skidded to a halt in front of a tree.

"We must evacuate the vehicle," Spock announced, coughing slightly through the smoke. "The fuel is extremely flammable..."

"It's _fire_," McCoy coughed back, staggering from the sleigh, "you can't get anything _more_ flammable."

Whatever response was going to come from the Vulcan was drowned out by an almighty booming noise, the sleigh going up in flames. All of the passengers stood several meters away, gaping in uncomprehending shock at the wreckage before them.

"Well," Twinky said after several moments of tense silence, "you've really done it this time, Santa."


	7. Rescues

**7. Rescues.**

"First off," Santa asked, "is anyone hurt?"

"No," they chorused.

"Secondly," he continued, "does anyone have a plan?" At this, Twinky muttered under his breath.

There was a small beat of silence before Spock opened his mouth to speak. "In order to return to our quarters, we must retrace our route."

"Do you know what that was?" Kirk asked.

"I do not remember the specifics," Spock admitted, "due to the unusual method of travel," here, Twinky snorted, "however, I do remember the general direction."

"Which is?" McCoy prompted.

"South."

"Alright!" Santa boomed, looking supremely pleased, "lead on then!"

"You're coming with us?"

"Of course, Captain."

"It's only because he can't remember the way to the next house," Twinky offered.

"Neither can you," Santa retorted.

"If you would follow me," Spock said, starting off at a brisk pace into the woods.

"Not again," McCoy groaned.

"These aren't even the same woods, Bones."

McCoy muttered an indistinct comment under his breath but other than that let the argument drop. Where McCoy had shown restraint, Twinky showed reckless abandon; he moaned and ranted for their entire journey, quarrelling with Santa over the smallest things. Thirty minutes later, even Kirk and Spock, who both showed enormous amounts of patience, were beginning to look annoyed with him.

Meanwhile, the snow continued to drift into their eyes, making it difficult to see where they were going as they stumbled onwards. A howling wind had picked up, flinging itself at them without mercy and chilling them to the bone. Noticing that Spock was shivering, Santa stopped walking and pulled the Vulcan to a halt beside him.

"Here," he said, pulling off his coat, "put this on."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said put it on," Santa repeated. "You need it more than I do. I've got another layer on anyway, as you can see."

"Just take it, Spock," McCoy ordered. "I'm not treating you for pneumonia when there are no hospitals around."

Spock sighed, looking at the bright red coat with what could only be described as resignation. "Very well," he murmured, pulling the garment on.

Twinky snorted. "Now I know what will happen if Santa Clause decides he likes elves."

McCoy grimaced. "Great. Congratulations, now that image is in my head."

"And right before you," Twinky helpfully pointed out.

"Do you know if we're getting any closer, Spock?" Kirk asked, trying to curb yet another argument.

"I believe so, however-"

"_Don't_ tread on the ice!" Twinky told Santa, who did so anyway.

"- I am only able to estimate," Spock added, as a resounding _splash_ sounded in the background.

"What did I tell you? You're too damn heavy to go-"

"That's alright, Spock, just-"

"Traipsing around on paper thin ice!"

"- get us as close as you can," Kirk finished, his voice almost drowned out by yet more tirades from Twinky.

"Oh Lord," McCoy groaned, rubbing his temples, "I think I'm getting a headache."

"I thought it would help!" Santa protested, struggling to heave himself out of the waist deep puddle of freezing water.

"And _how_," McCoy demanded, joining in with Twinky, "was it supposed to?"

"It is possible that he believed it to be a 'short cut', Leonard."

"Well it wasn't," McCoy pointed out needlessly. "And now we have to get him out of there before he catches something that I won't be able to compete with!"

Santa waggled his eyebrows.

"You _know_ that's not what I meant!"

"I kn..." he broke off suddenly, looking at the water in contemplation. "Oh."

"What?"

"I've gone numb," Santa explained, beginning to turn red in the face. "I don't think I like that sensation..."

"Maybe we should get you out before you're permanently numb, then," McCoy muttered, reaching for one of Santa's outstretched hands and beginning to pull.

Taking the hint, everyone else joined in, though Twinky's efforts were minimal due to his small stature and Kirk could not seem to stop smirking at the incredible situation. As they pulled, the weight in their arms began to get lighter and lighter, at first buoyed by the water, and the shivering that had begun to start up became less noticeable.

"What the..." McCoy stared at the empty sleeve in his hand, eyes travelling upwards until they saw a smaller version of Santa's head, staring back at him curiously.

"What?"

"Your arm has disappeared."

Santa looked at the missing appendage. "Really? I can't see any difference."

"There's a big gap right _there_," McCoy said, rolling up the sleeve to show that there was indeed no arm.

Santa raised an eyebrow, looking slightly impatient. "Hilarious, Doctor, but all I can see is a very blue looking arm – can you keep pulling me out of the water? I don't want..."

His voice began to fade as his body began to shrink further.

"...to be here..."

All three officers exchanged wary glances as they watched the process.

"...until the end of time..."

"Spock?" Kirk asked, finally finding his voice.

"...with Twinky glaring at me for failing..._again_..."

"It would appear that there is a further fault with the illusion."

"Twinky?" Kirk called, looking around wildly for any sight of the elf. He wasn't there. "Santa, I...right."

"He appears not to be here, Jim."

"Well done," McCoy applauded sarcastically.

"So very sorry," a timid voice called out from the trees, making the two humans jump. "I should have realised sooner, it is my job, of course, but I just didn't notice until now." A small man appeared from the shadows, panting slightly, gazing up into their faces in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I think we are, yes," Kirk replied, wavering between relief and confusion.

"I'm the one in charge of your illusion," the man explained.

"Didn't the zombie children clue you in to the fact it wasn't entirely right?" McCoy asked.

The man shook his head, small beard jiggling fretfully. "Oh, no, no, no. I'm unfamiliar with your customs, you see, and I only had a vague description to base my illusion on in the first place."

"Vague?" Kirk repeated, looking put out.

"You gave me a detailed picture of the cottage, yes," the man explained impatiently, "but not what you planned for _inside_ apart from the general idea of a 'werewolf' and a 'secret passage'. When I saw what was happening, I didn't realise it was out of the ordinary."

"What about the fact that I _said_ it was?" McCoy demanded.

"There's no sound on my monitor. I can only see what's going on, and I can't lip-read your language. It was only after I researched your traditions that I realised your shock and confusion was genuine."

"Oh," McCoy drawled sarcastically, "then in _that_ case, I suppose we have _you_ to thank for being frozen in the middle of a wood-"

"Bones."

"- with a suicidal driver of a festive man and depressed elf-"

"_Bones_."

"-after being attacked inside a house made of _ginger_, of all things-"

"Leonard," Spock said, his sharp tone finally drawing McCoy from his rant, "you will cease."

McCoy finally realised what he was doing and subsided into silence, though he was not happy about it.

The man shifted about on his feet nervously. "Shall I take you back to the centre, then? I can beam you back from there and send your belongings up afterwards. Any more illusions at this point are impossible, I'm afraid. The equipment is under repair and all the others are in use."

"That would be great," Kirk replied with a grateful smile.

Giving a nod of his head, the man began leading them in the direction he had come, jabbering along the way about their fascinating culture and strange ideas of a Christmas break. When he finally opened the door to their illusion centre, the three officers were greeted by a crowd of anxious looking technicians, all of whom instantly relaxed the moment they set eyes on them.

What followed was half an hour of profuse apologies and celebration, mixed together to create such a din of noise that it was almost impossible to hear much of anything.

McCoy snorted and rolled his eyes as he was led off to the kitchens for some 'revitalising hot drinks'. "_Gnomes_."


	8. Epilogue

**8. Epilogue.**

"God," McCoy groaned as he sank into a chair in the recreation room, "I'm glad that's over."

"So am I, actually," Kirk added, as he claimed one of the two remaining.

They both turned to Spock, expecting him to comment, but he merely sat down, took off the Santa coat and folded it gravely across his lap. Noticing their silence, he turned to look at them, eyebrow raised in a silent question.

"Well?" McCoy demanded.

"I found the entire experience to be rather interesting."

"You would."

Kirk sighed, looking at the digital clock on the wall. "Merry Christmas," he murmured.

"Jim...you didn't know that the illusion would fail," McCoy said gently.

Kirk snorted. "I should never have pinned all of my hopes on it."

"It is still possible," Spock said, "to celebrate Christmas in the traditional human manner."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. If my understanding of the practice is correct," Spock continued, "we require only the presence of acquaintances and knowledge of the day of festivities."

"And presents?"

"Gifts have never been essential, Leonard. The mere knowledge that the day exists and that we are acknowledging it suffices."

There was a moment of silence as each human digested this fact, until Kirk's mouth quirked into a sly smile. "Getting all sentimental, Spock?"

"I am only stating the facts."

McCoy snorted. "Facts or not, we're getting closer to turning you into a human."

"That would be a decidedly unfavourable turn of events, should it occur."

"Which, of course," Kirk teased, "it won't."

"Of course."

McCoy grinned at their antics and leaned back in his chair, allowing the comfortable material to lull him into relaxation, the warmth of the room spreading through his limbs after the cold of the countryside. The images of the past few days swimming through his mind, he reflected on the newfound level of friendship he had developed with the two men by his side, and allowed himself to be grateful.

Until, of course, Kirk decided to pull another stupid stunt. And Spock would, of course, go along with it. _Then_ he wouldn't be feeling so mellow. But for now, McCoy decided, he could always content himself with the idea that, should they try to do something as insane as this again, he could threaten them with something that had never failed him yet.

His hypos.


End file.
